After an intriguing conversation with Roberta this afternoon about family and all that it is comprised of, I came home and looked at myself in the mirror for a good long while–which I don’t do very often.

What I saw there astounded me: Not one person, but several–my father, my mother, my aunts and uncles, my grandmothers, my sisters and brothers. And when you consider my personality (in all its glorious and quirky flaws), you begin to see evidences of the countless individuals who’ve shaped me–whether or not it was their intention.

Let’s be honest. Not every person is going to impact you in the most profound manner. But every person has the potential to impact you in a manner that others cannot (or may not…or will not…). And maybe–just maybe–God brings people into our lives for just such a reason: to impact us. Or…to impact them. Or to impact both us and them. Each individual has the potential to challenge us, to encourage us, to rub against us like sand, polishing us into a clearer understanding of who we really are.

You are not simply an image. You are not a label, a facebook status, or 140 characters on twitter. Your life cannot be summed up in one or two words. You are an entire history of people, of situations, of emotions; an entire future of hopes, of challenges, of passions.

You are, just as much as any other person on this planet, a reflection of some aspect of God’s character. You are in His image, whether you understand that or not. Though He has created more human beings than we could ever analyze, we must learn to see ourselves as a unique reflection of Him. Be small and humble–after all, He’s created a lot of people just as unique as you; and* be honored and humble–for there is no other you in all of creation.

Just like my journals. Kind of. None of them are the same, even though they are all the same. And yes…I did finish them in time for Christmas (though I didn’t mail them all in time for Christmas–yikes!)

Neither wrote anything that I know of, but both area voracious readers. My Dad doesn’t read anymore because he has irreversible macular degeneration. My older brother has written some technical stuff, but my younger brother is the one to break into fiction. (The Last Knight of Camelot) It’s funny that since Teddy Kennedy died, the liberal news media has referred to him as “The Last Knight of Camelot”, which messes with anyone’s search online for his book.